TD Jakes - The Ship Who Carried All of the Weight
But I suggest to you that the real star of the story is the ship. I made the ship the star of the story because it is the ship that carries all the weight. If I were going to describe Bishop Jay Delano Ellis, I cannot use another man; I must describe him as a ship that carried all the weight. It is, my brothers and sisters, the ship that must take center stage. We must tell this tale in the voice of the ship because the ship bore all the weight with only an occasional sigh and groan. It is the ship that battled the adverse currents. It took three times longer to arrive than it should have because the ship had to sail against the currents of the wind. As soon as the wind blew, the currents shifted, and the ship had to keep moving forward when everything outside was pushing it back.
Bishop Jay Delano Ellis kept moving forward when all the forces of hell were trying to push him back. The ship has to tell the story; it is the ship that endured the impact of other people’s decisions, suffering injuries from choices it did not make itself. It is a ship that kept on going, even when guided by poor decisions. It persevered; it is the ship that carried the grain and the weight of 276 people. To be a great man of God, you carry everyone: your staff, your volunteers, your community members, your sons in the gospel, and the people associated with you; you even carry your Judases.
That is why I believe the ship is the star of the story, because it was a ship that endured hardships like a good soldier. It is the ship that kept moving forward when the winds were trying to destroy it. It is the ship that survived in the middle of a hurricane, facing winds so tempestuous that the ship should have fallen apart in the middle of the sea, yet it refused to shatter. It is a ship that continued onward even after the ropes had been secured beneath it to hold it together, and when those ropes began to break—the ropes called «helps"—the ship kept going, even when the help fell apart. Is there anyone here who kept going, even though you didn’t have all the help?
All the support you started with ran out on you, and you had to sail against contrary winds. And when all the helps began to break, it was the ship that kept moving forward. It was the ship that lost its rafts because the men had thrown the rafts overboard, preparing to escape, but Paul talked them out of escaping, saying that the only way they would survive was to stay on the ship. So it lost its help, it lost its rafts, and every time it encountered a storm, a piece fell loose—little by little, little by little. It kept preaching, it kept going, it kept caring, it kept delivering us, and it kept sustaining us, even as it was falling apart in front of our eyes. It still stood up to the weight and the cost of being who it was.
When I thought about Jay Delano Ellis, he was the kind of ship that would carry the weight with scarcely a groan and keep going. When the helps left and all the rafts were cut loose, he still stood tall; he still sang his own songs. He still brought you into worship, from anthems to old-time Pentecostal jubilee. It was Jay Delano Ellis who never let you know that the bolts were coming out, never let you know that he had been throwing up for days just to make it to church on Sunday morning, never let you know that he was holding on to the edge of the pulpit because his strength was failing. This ship should be the star of the story because it endured the burden of carrying you to where you are. It lost its help, it lost its rafts, and finally, it lost its cargo—but it kept going.
Paul said, «You ought to appreciate the ship,» because if you stay on the ship, not one of you will be lost; every one of you will be saved if you stay on the ship. Even though the ship itself may shatter, every time it fought off cancer, a piece fell away. I want to talk to some survivors in the room: are there people who have been through some stuff and made it? I need you to be my witnesses. Can you relate to the fact that every time you survive something, you made it, but you lost a little something?
People always want to talk about how they made it, but they don’t tell you how much it cost them to make it. Every time you go through a battle, you lose a little something. Finally, in the last moment of the text, the hurricane became so strong and the wind so forceful that they brought the ship too close to the edge, because it was trying to get you as close as possible to the destination. It knew that if it got that close, it could cost its life—but it kept going anyway. I said, «If I perish, I perish, but I’m going to bring you as close as I can to the shore.»
It was bringing you close to the shore that caused the ship to shatter, and it was this man, bringing you close to shore, that caused the ship to break. The ship should tell the story, because when the ship shattered, it was so awesome, so anointed, so powerful, so gifted that even if I fall apart, if you grab a board or a broken piece— and the Bible says, and the Bible says, and the Bible says— the ship might have shattered, but there was still enough glory in the boards that some on boards and some unbroken pieces made it safely to the other side.
The Lord told me to tell you the ship is out of service, but the boards are still good. If you hold on to what He provides—yes, yes, yes—look at somebody and say, «I’ve got a little bit. I’ve got a little bit. I’ve got a little peace. I’ve got enough for Bishop. I’ve got a fight. I’ve got enough fire. I’ve got enough power. I’ve got another anointing.»
Some on board, unbroken pieces made it safely to the other side. Paul would have drowned if it weren’t for a piece; Luke would have died at sea if it weren’t for a little bit. He would have drowned in the water, but because of the ship, they were within reach. Now, too many transformations! God will send a man into many movements; God will send a voice into many women; God will send a husband into many children; God will send a father. But to you, He sends His ship.
Now hear me real good, and I’ll sit down. He may not be here—remain standing. He may not be here, he may not be here in his original form. He may not answer the phone when you dial his number; he may not be sitting in his favorite chair when you get back to the house. But that only means that the ship has shattered. Never believe that the mission is aborted because the ship is shattered. Because when God sends you a ship, He is so committed to you getting there that if He has to use the ship in another form—everybody in here that has a piece, everybody in here that has a piece, everybody in here that has a story to tell and an experience and a moment that changed your life, I want you to take the roof off this place and give God a crazy praise for what you have left!